


Moment of madness!

by millygal



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-10-18 09:37:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10614228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: They can't keep their hands off each other, even when they don't know who they are!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: This gif ;)  
>   
> A/N: Thank you to BHJ for posting the gif that created this little bit of naughty!! Thank you to Wings128 for prodding and sw0rdy for making any sense out of my rambles!

The _very_ second the doors close they're **on** each other.

Sam uses Dean's tie as a counter weight, wrapping it tight around his fingers and raising his fist, pinning the suited man against the elevator wall. The thought of taking full advantage of the exposed skin makes his teeth itch and mouth water.

Dean thinks perhaps this is what he needs; a man who doesn't care about boundaries and protocol.

Sam knows if he doesn't taste him, at least once, then his whole life he'll wonder what it was like to rasp his tongue along the line of Dean's jaw. He slams his other hand down on the, 'Elevator stop' button and flicks an eyebrow, daring Dean to contradict him.

Reckless as it may be, the slight sheen of sweat Dean can see resting atop Sam's upper lip is doing all kinds of crazy things to his nervous system and for a moment he thinks Sam might be about to back out of whatever insanity he's started here.

 _Don't you fucking **dare**_.

He must be crazy himself, but crazy isn't something he's ever been accused of being before and right now that's pissing him off more than the constant drone of corporate crap buzzing in his ears.

Instead of running for the hills like he so obviously **should** , Dean simply flashes a palms up finger wiggle **Come on then!** gesture and waits for Sam to make his move, because for a man who spends his entire life in pinstripe and braces with a blue-tooth headset stuck to his ear, the thought of losing control to someone who's more likely to sit on pinstripe than wear it is _so_ very tantalising.

They're complete opposites.

Sam's clearly a little bit of a drifter - he's got that, 'I can do anything I want, I just don't **want** to!', attitude going on and it's almost impossible not to notice the way he owns his height, his ragged edges, and that damned floppy hair.

How Sam managed to get through HR with that monstrosity on top of his head, Dean will never know, but right this second, as it tickles his cheek whilst Sam latches onto his jumping pulse point and scrapes the edge of one chipped canine across his throat, he's fucking glad he did.

Sam's not entirely sure this is such a good idea; it's not like he can afford to lose his job for straddling his boss in the elevator, but Dean's scent in his nostrils, the man's _flavour_ on the tip of his tongue, is well worth the Pink Slip he might be getting in tomorrow's inter-office mail.

Dean's having an out of body experience. He knows it's his hands fumbling with his zipper, but for the life of him he's not sure why, other than the visceral need to have Sam's hand wrapped tightly around his leaking cock. There's a damp patch on his freshly pressed dress pants and, damn, if Dean doesn't give a rat's ass.

Sam's whole body is thrumming. They haven't even spoken, not a single word's passed between them and yet here Sam is with his nose pressed tight against the soft flesh of his boss's throat and a large hand buried inside his wrinkle-free pants.

He'll either get sacked or a _promotion_.

The warmth of Sam's calloused hand enveloping Dean's twitching dick isn't something he was prepared for, not when a sudden sense of home sparks along his spine and his knees almost buckle from the force of the _want_ rippling behind his eyelids.

With minimal resistance Sam manages to spin Dean on the spot, almost throttling the poor man with the tie still snaked tight around his fist. "Hands flat on the wall."

Dean doesn't hesitate, doesn't even blink. The tone in Sam's voice smacks him straight in the chest and he can feel sticky warmth trickling down his inner thigh.

Fumbling one handed, Sam yanks Dean's suspenders off his shoulders just enough to drag his pants down over his pert beautiful ass. Finally freeing himself from the confines of his god awful uniform, Sam harshly pumps a closed fist along his aching shaft, gathering as much pre-come as he can hold before smearing it roughly around Dean's exposed hole.

Dean's shuddering on the spot. The need to move, to speak, to moan, is overwhelming but something tells him this little encounter doesn't need a volume control and _fucking hell would you hurry it up already!_

Sam leans forward, rests his chin at Dean's ear and whispers. "Gonna hurt. Problem?"

Dean doesn't trust his voice so he simply presses back against Sam's questing fingers and shakes his head.

Sam lets off the tension on the tie still pinned to the wall beneath his hand and Dean reaches up to cup the back of his knuckles. "Don't!"

There's nothing romantic or even polite about the sex. It's rough and it's hard and it's exactly what they both need. The slight ripping sensation of Sam's cock forcing its way inside Dean's bare ass is something akin to picking a hangnail; hurts like fuck but damn it feels good to finally get that sucker where you want it!

Dean swears he hears one of his suspenders ping away and Sam's almost blinded by the flying piece of metal flicking past his face, but a team of form wielding HR officials couldn't force either one of them to back off right now.

Grunting against the force with which Sam's pistoning his hips, Dean bares down on the cock filling him and nearly rips a nail out as he drags his fingers down the wall to stop from collapsing backwards.

It's over as quickly as it began and Sam's already pulling out and wiping himself against an errant piece of paper he had balled up in his pocket. He side eyes Dean who's trying unsuccessfully to look boss-like whilst figuring out where exactly he should smear the thick line of come now coating his palm and the wall, and nearly falls over laughing.

Digging around in his pockets, Sam finds a scraggy piece of tissue and hands it to Dean.

"Here."

Dean rolls his eyes and cleans up as best he can before tucking himself away and rearranging his crumpled clothes.

Sam flashes a wicked grin at Dean before flicking the 'Elevator Stop' button and gets a smack on the shoulder for his trouble. "Let a guy fix his shit first, would ya?!"

Sam snorts as the elevator doors open and saunters away without a backwards glance.

Dean blows out a breath and steps into the hallway, following Sam's ass with an appreciative glance. "Next time it's _my_ turn."


End file.
